


Misunderstood Conversations

by MadHattersPet



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Da Ponte knows whats up, M/M, Salieri jumps to conclusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadHattersPet/pseuds/MadHattersPet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mozart's angsting over Salieri and Da Ponte is having none of that.  Salieri eavesdrops</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misunderstood Conversations

Mozart was getting used to people disliking him; he didn't exactly follow social norms. But it escaped him why Antonio Salieri, a man just as brilliant as he, would insist on hating him. Mozart had come to Vienna imagining the salons and the writing he would do, but also hoping to be friends with the other composer. Yet Salieri had ruthlessly crushed every advance he'd made.

Da Ponte looked up as Mozart sighed again. "What's wrong my friend?"

"Oh it's nothing."

Da Ponte just continued to stare levelly at his friend.

Mozart sighed, dropping his quill and running his hands through his hair. "It's just-" he groaned, "why does Salieri hate me so?"

"He doesn't hate you-" Da Ponte stopped at the look his friend was giving him. "Okay, so he isn't precisely amicable, but he doesn't hate you."

"What then? I mean, I try to talk to him but he-- he just doesn't, doesn't respond."

"Salieri doesn't respond to anything Mozart."

Unbeknownst to the two of them, Salieri had just entered Da Ponte's house on business, but had heard Mozart's first outburst and paused in the hall to listen.

"I know he's reserved, but he's at least civil to most of the world. What on earth did I do wrong?" Mozart asked on a drawn out moan.

Da Ponte looked at him, "There's more to this than just you wanting to be- friends, isn't there?"

"What are you talking about?"

Da Ponte settled farther into his chair, "I know you Mozart, you would be hurt by Salieri’s refusal to acknowledge you, but there's something else in the way you talk about him, in your frustration. Is everything alright with Constance my friend?"

Mozart blinked slowly, surprised at the turn of conversation, "Of course, why do you ask?"

"It just seems to me that she might not be--what you need."

"My dear Da Ponte, what on earth are you talking about?”

Da Ponte sighed, "I'm trying to be delicate, such desires are not spoken of Mozart."

"Desires?"

"Yes."

Understanding flushed Mozart's cheeks with color, "Da Ponte are you suggesting--"

Da Ponte just met Mozart's flustered gaze, "Yes I am."

In the hall Salieri frowned, also understanding what Da Ponte was talking about, "Are you stealing Mozart from Constance, Da Ponte?" he muttered to himself, taking the burning sensation in his chest to be disgust. With a worried frown, the composer turned on his heel, missing Da Ponte's next words.

"You desire Salieri, don't you Mozart?"

The young composer looked away, "I'm not sure--" he trailed off, looking into the distance with puppy eyes that had Da Ponte sighing in exasperation.

"You are familiar with desire Mozart," he stood up, rounding the desk to clap Mozart on the shoulder, "Go home, get some sleep."

"Thank you my friend and don't--"

"We won't speak of this again."

Mozart nodded and was almost to the door before Da Ponte's voice had him looking back over his shoulder, "and Mozart, good luck."

The younger man gave him a small smile and a nod.

 

At home, Salieri sat on the side of his bed, pondering what he'd over heard, was there something going on between Da Ponte and Mozart? It wasn't unheard of for two men to, quietly, pursue a relationship, but Mozart was all but married to the Weber chit was he not? Non of this was any of Salieri's business though, and he resolved to have no more to do with it.

Mozart undressed slowly, considering Da Ponte's idea, was he lusting after Salieri? The older composer was certainly beautiful, wide shoulders, pale skin, and delicate hands. It wouldn't be the first time he'd seen the beauty in the male form, but was that appreciation, and his admiration for the older composer, deepening into something carnal?

 

They were walking side by side down a hallway in Da Ponte's house, shoulders brushing occasionally.

"How did your meeting with Rosenburg go?"  
"As well as could be expected, did you get any work done on the sonata for the Marquis ----?"  
"A little," Mozart briefly took the lead, opening the door to Da Ponte's empty study, allowing Salieri to go first, "What was it you wanted to discuss?"

Salieri let his eyes trace Mozart's pale lips before stepping into the younger man's space, please when Mozart didn't step back.  
"I've been having a bit of a problem you see."  
"Oh," Mozart quirked an eyebrow, "anything I could help with?"  
"I believe so, if you would so kind."  
"Of course, I'm curious now."  
Salieri smiled and took Mozart's face in his palms, tilting his head to the side and slanting his lips against pale ones.  
Mozart sucked in a quick breath through his nose, tensing, and Salieri felt his stomach drop; but then all the tension drained from the smaller man, Mozart's hands coming to grip Salieri's waist.  
The kiss was a confirmation of everything that had built between them, reaching into Salieri’s heart and smoothing out some of the scars there. The older composer shifted his grip to Mozart’s hair, needing to hold on as their lips danced together.

Salieri sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. There were hot flashes running through his veins and he’d never felt so jittery and out of control. Distantly he realized that this emotion was want, he wanted Mozart in a way he’d never wanted anything or anyone before.

The next day Mozart and Salieri found themselves thrown together—mildly against their wills—at a fete for the Count ----.  
Mozart hadn’t gotten much sleep having been preoccupied with analyzing his feelings for the older composer, he was tired and just a little cranky and getting more than a little annoyed with the socialite’s hovering when he felt eyes boring into his back. Craning his neck around he saw Salieri leaning against the wall eyes dark.  
Salieri had been dragged to the little gathering by Rosenberg, grumpy and cross from his dream and subsequent realization. His mood wasn’t improved by the strange flips his stomach insisted on performing when he realized that Mozart was there.  
It didn’t take much to move away once Rosenberg was distracted by court gossip and lean against a wall where he could watch Mozart in peace. Salieri allowed his eyes to wander freely over the smaller man’s form, the way his jacket fit his shoulders, his pants hugged his waist.  
He had a few minutes of peaceful watching, despite the gathering urge to forcibly rip the foolish women off of Mozart. The Austrian was getting tense, Salieri could see it in the set of his shoulders and the abbreviated motion. Then those liquid brown eyes were staring back at the Italian. Salieri could feel his breath catch in his throat and his stomach performed a few more ballet maneuvers than he was comfortable with.  
Mozart raised an eyebrow, slightly unsettled by the look in the other composer’s eyes. It wasn’t friendly, it was too dark for that. At his eyebrow the Italian’s lips curved up and his face re-arranged itself into sympathy as he nodded to the women fawning over Mozart. Mozart gave a minute shrug and sardonic grin before cocking his head, silently asking why Salieri was staring at him.  
Salieri started to shrug, wanting to distract Mozart from the fact, but even as his shoulders started to rise Mozart’s gaze darkened, a silent warning, so Salieri took a deep breath before letting the memory of his dream creep up his spine and settle into his eyes, looking Mozart up and down, slowly.  
Mozart’s mouth went dry as the lust poured from Salieri’s eyes, sending a shiver of want down his spine. Oh yes, Da Ponte had been correct, he wanted Salieri, and from the look the Italian was giving him, he wasn’t alone in his lust. They needed to get alone and get naked now.  
When Mozart’s eyes gave him back the same look of lust he was giving Salieri grinned, reading Mozart’s desire in his eyes and feeling the answering desire in himself. This was new, this desire, Salieri was not used to strong emotions and this one threatened to sweep him away, but he wasn’t nearly as frightened somehow, knowing that Mozart was right there with him.

Da Ponte looked for Mozart in the crowded drawing room, wanting to discreetly inquire as to whether he’d come to a decision regarding Antonio Salieri. He nearly groaned aloud when he finally spotted the other, eyes locked with Salieri. Apparently he’d figured it out, dear lord those two were nearly fornicating on the floor.  
It took him only moments to reach Mozart’s side and banish the annoying women, grasping Mozart’s shoulder with one hand. The younger man started, eyes turning to Da Ponte dilated and full of lust. “You might want to take your little affair out of the sight of prying eyes, Mozart you have more discretion than this!”  
“We weren’t-“  
“You might as well have been, the two of you have looked nowhere other than each other the past few minutes.”  
Mozart nodded, “I think I’m beginning to feel ill.”  
Da Ponte grinned, “Off with you, I’ll give your excuses to the count.”  
Mozart nodded, but when he turned back to Salieri the Italian’s spot on the wall was vacant.   
Salieri frowned when Da Ponte took Mozart’s attention, thrown back to reality. Da Ponte wanted Mozart, had approached him first. So why had Mozart looked at him like that? Flirt the man may be, but he wasn’t unfaithful. Salieri threw himself from the wall in disgust, slipping out of the room and heading out of the house. He wasn’t far from home, he could walk.  
Mozart couldn’t be interested in him; he’d probably interpreted the look wrong, no matter what his gut told him he was very inexperienced in this area.  
Mozart cursed to himself, stepping out of the room and just catching sight of the Italian’s coat as it went around the corner.  
He skidded around, “Salieri, wait.”  
Against his will, Salieri felt his feet stop as Mozart came up behind him, but he didn’t turn around, “Yes Mozart.”  
“Why did you leave?”  
Salieri tried to loosen his neck muscles, buying time, he was an adult damn it. “You and I had different ideas—“  
“Ideas about what?”  
Mozart was going to make him say it, wasn’t he, “You should go back to Da Ponte.”  
“Why on earth would I do that?”  
“Because—“  
“Yes?”  
Salieri groaned to himself, feeling Mozart take a step closer to him, “Mozart—“  
He could hear the faint smile in Mozart’s voice, “Salieri.”  
Oh that was just it; Salieri whirled around grabbing a fistful of Mozart’s coat and pressing him against the nearest wall, face hovering just over the Austrian, “Was I wrong.”  
There was relief in Mozart’s eyes, “No,” and his hands were reaching up, desperate, gripping Salieri’s hair and kissing him and oh, it was perfect.  
Salieri kissed Mozart, feeling himself drown in how beautiful it was, more beautiful than music, more perfect than the most perfect notes. He was content to stay right here, just holding and kissing his composer.  
At least he was until a polite little cough interrupted them. Da Ponte was looking at them both with a sarcastic eyebrow, “My dear Mozart, I’m sure you know a little more discretion than this; I know Salieri does.”  
Salieri resisted the urge to growl something nasty at the other man, wrapping a protective arm around Mozart’s waits instead. Something tight eased in his chest when Mozart leaned into his hold.  
Mozart could feel himself blush terribly at Da Ponte’s words, “Ah yes my friend, we just had to sort a little something out.”  
“Well it seems to be sorted,” Da Ponte’s eyes lingered on Salieri’s hold of Mozart’s waist, “Take my carriage.”  
Mozart wasn’t sure they’d make it out of the carriage, he was hot and full of nerves, and Salieri wasn’t doing too much better. They’d decided to go to Salieri’s as it was closer, but even five minutes was simply too long.  
Finally the coach was stopped and they were inside. Salieri cleared his throat, looking at Mozart out of the corner of his eye, unsure of what to do next.  
Picking up on this Mozart took over, leaning up to kiss Salieri again, “Where’s your bed room?”  
“This way,” and Salieri took Mozart’s hand leading him to the mostly bare room.   
Mozart didn’t give either of them a chance to look around, kissing Salieri and stripping them both of their coats.  
Salieri groaned, holding onto Mozart as they collapsed onto his bed, Mozart straddling his waist, still kissing him.  
It took them only moments to toe off shoes and yank off ties and then Salieri was laying kisses down Mozart’s throat as the other tried to get their shirts off.  
Things got a little hazy after that, full of pleasure and lips and hands and smooth skin under his fingers and the way Mozart looked him and sweet lord let this never end.  
Hazy hours later they were curled together, still sweetly kissing and petting with all their lust spent. Salieri could help smoothing Mozart’s hair away from his collar bone and planting another kiss there. Mozart returned with a kiss just under Salieri’s jaw. They drifted off together just as the last of the sunlight faded into night.

**Author's Note:**

> So, diabetes producing ending.


End file.
